


Happy Endings (Are Just Stories That Haven't Finished Yet)

by kelleigh (girlfromcarolina)



Series: Mr. & Mr. Smith [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Mr. & Mrs. Smith Fusion, M/M, Minor Violence, Mr. & mr. Smith, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:40:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29504937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlfromcarolina/pseuds/kelleigh
Summary: Couples therapy. Still fucking ridiculous. Jensen would much rather just shoot someone.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Series: Mr. & Mr. Smith [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2167317
Comments: 6
Kudos: 102





	Happy Endings (Are Just Stories That Haven't Finished Yet)

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine, if you will, a J-squared version of Mr. & Mrs. Smith. I didn't write that. I only wrote the _epilogue_. Title from said movie.
> 
> N.B. My brain told me to write this. I merely complied. Unbetaed, written quickly, and feedback more than welcome.
> 
> Edited and reworked, adding about 500 words to the story. Originally posted February 2009.

_NOW_

"Ask us the sex question."

Jensen rolls his eyes. He didn't think it was possible to embarrass a therapist, but Jared...well, there you go. Jared has always gone above and beyond.

His husband holds up multiple fingers before the mortified woman can stop blushing long enough to ask.

 _Couples therapy_. Still fucking ridiculous. Jensen would much rather just shoot somebody. It’s always made him feel better.

< >

_THEN_

Jensen told Jared to disappear, back when they were both being hunted. Their house was a pile of rubble in the suburbs and there were no safehouses to run to anymore. Despite the shitstorm they were in, Jared did it (don't you dare say he _obeyed_ ), desperate to get away from the fact he'd been ordered to kill his husband. Nevermind that he'd actually _considered_ it. Later on, he’ll blame that momentary lapse on the betrayal he felt (and maybe the reality that Jensen thought about killing him, too).

They'd never known they were playing the same game for opposite teams, and the revelation had been shocking, but _no_. He wasn't killing Jensen. Neither one of them could pull the trigger, and that was better than any marriage vow.

But if they stayed together, they were as good as dead.

So, Jared ran as far as Amarillo and holed up in a shitty motel outside the city, hours from Jensen, both of his lives torn to pieces. Jared spent an eternity on his untraceable cell phone, a parting gift from a teammate he'd never see again, rearranging his life and dragging his feet as much as possible. He thought, if he stayed put long enough, there was a chance...

When Jensen burst into the room less than thirty-six hours after Jared had left him, he should have been surprised. He was too busy throwing Jensen onto the hard motel mattress and biting the soft flesh of his husband's neck.

"What the—ugh, fuck!—Jensen?" He was moaning, Jensen ripping their clothes off with no heed or hesitation. Jared couldn't hold a full breath; his lungs were aching and he was dizzy with the feel of Jensen. "You fuckin' told me—"

"You turned your goddamn phone on." Jensen bucked up into Jared's firm hold, getting impatient with the distractions. "Tracked you from that. Oh, fuck! Couldn't wait...Jared!"

Jared had turned his old phone on, just for a moment, praying for any kind of message from Jensen.

"Couldn't let me go, baby?" He bit and sucked at Jensen's abs before being yanked up by powerful arms. A killer's arms.

"No. _Hell_ no." Jensen's lips locked on his, tongue an assault in his mouth, and _fuck_ that. 

Jared pulled Jensen up, arms solid behind his husband's neck. He relaunched his own attack, clawing at Jensen's back as they rocked and ground their bodies together. He was probably leaving marks, and Jensen's teeth were busy gnawing on his lips, chin, cheek, jugular—wherever he could reach—but for them, marks were nothing new. Just more scars. At least these came from a slightly less deadly activity.

Then again, sex with Jensen could easily be lethal.

"Oh _Jesus_!" Jared curled forward, stomach contracted. Their hips lined up perfectly, and the friction was _sodamngood_.

"It's Jensen, remember?" _Smug bastard_. "Or have you already forgotten our entire marriage?"

"Fuck you."

"Fuck me." 

_Asshole_.

"Gladly."

"About time!"

Jared flexed his fingers against Jensen's spine, then released him back onto the bed. He brought his lips low to Jensen's ear. "Turn over, baby."

Not another word was spoken as Jared opened Jensen on his fingers and tongue, imagining his cock filling the same space. The sounds Jensen made were hotter than anything he could remember. Listening to Jensen’s pleading moans and demanding growls made Jared feel more connected to him than he had in years. And when he was finally inside Jensen, fucking him with long strokes and holding on with a grip that was sure to bruise, Jared felt something he hadn’t during their entire marriage.

Suddenly, it didn’t matter that they were in a roadside motel, running for their lives. Jared was _home_.

< >

_NOW_

They have sex more. They fight a lot more, too. The combination is _amazing_.

Before all of this went down, Jensen and Jared never really did anything; they didn't fight and they certainly never _fucked_. They floated around each other in a carefully-crafted suburban nightmare, and Jensen hated nearly every minute of it.

Before their life imploded, Jensen used to wake up every morning at 6:18 after hitting the snooze button exactly twice. He showered, shaved, and got dressed following the same routine. And every morning, he spent three minutes staring at the bathroom door after Jared went in, wondering if he should walk away. Wondering if he _could_. He knew the agency could set him up somewhere else within twenty-four hours, send him halfway across the world without a thought. It was hard to look at Jared anymore. All Jensen saw were his failings as a husband, even as his handlers told him how successfully he’d maintained his cover. He wondered if halfway across the world was far enough, if leaving would give Jared the chance to actually be happy.

And then, every morning, Jensen would think about the day they met.

Jared, tanned and smiling on a Cayman beach, looking at Jensen like he was a cool breeze in the desert. In that moment of serendipity, Jensen wanted to walk away from his agency, something he’d never considered before.

When they came together that night, a product of the romantic Caribbean air and the heat of shared gazes, Jensen couldn't let go of Jared and he sensed the feeling was mutual.

Jensen knew they fell in love that night. Unfortunately, they spent the next three years falling out of love. Secrets and lies, pretending to be people they weren't, and a twist they couldn't begin to fathom waiting somewhere in the future.

Now, with the dust settling and the truth out in the open, Jensen is grateful for everything that led them here. He’s willing to spend the rest of his life making Jared fall back in love with him, if that’s what it takes.

< >

_THEN_

After Amarillo, they ran for over a month. Jared didn't really mind the constant movement so long as Jensen stayed with him.

Jensen wanted to head east while Jared wanted to head west. They flipped a coin and headed for the Atlantic. After stealing cars, covering their tracks, and laying false leads, they parked themselves in St. Simons, Georgia. Jared used the time to clean out and transfer their old bank accounts while Jensen worked on planning their next moves. He came up with and rejected so many scenarios that the two of them got comfortable and stayed.

To Jared, it seemed like a strange honeymoon, like rediscovery. Lessons learned that night on Cayman Brac were remembered, and the pain of three desolate years began to abate.

Jensen was a biter, sharp nips and gentle bites replacing screams and moans. And his lips, his fucking lips, merely a distraction before, become Jared's obsession. Wet and plush, Jared could kiss—and _bite_ and _use_ —them for hours.

Jared was glad he kept his hair long; he loved the feel of Jensen pulling it in their passion, or carding through it once they were spent. He bore the imprints from Jensen's teeth proudly: the fading marks over his collarbone and the fresh ones over his tattooed hip. Jared felt more connected to those bruises than ones from hand-to-hand combat.

Two weeks later, coming back to their rental house after a twilight run, there was a postcard stuck in their screen door.

A vibrant view of South Beach, Miami—“Wish You Were Here!”—and nothing on the back besides the cryptic signature. 

_XOXO Carla_.

< >

_NOW_

Standing on their balcony overlooking Rabat, Jensen feels the slight tremor as a low-grade explosive detonates a few blocks away. There's no visible smoke, and if you weren't expecting it like Jensen was, the momentary shake probably passed unnoticed. 

His husband does good work, but Jensen totally made it back to the hotel first.

Oh, he _wins_.

Fifteen minutes later, as the sounds of sirens are dying off in the distance, Jared walks into the room with a smile on his face. It promptly disappears when he sees Jensen.

"Shit."

"Should have gone for two single hits instead of waiting to take both out at once."

Jared honest-to-God _pouts_. "You cheated."

"Nope, I'm just better."

"Yeah, righ—"

"Stop talking, and get on the bed," Jensen's grin is almost a snarl, and even from across the hotel room he can see Jared's eyes dilate and his breath quicken. "You're _mine_ tonight."

< >

_THEN_

Jared kind of hated Miami.

Not the weather or the beaches, just the feel of the city. The attitudes of the rich and beautiful and useless. He was glad Jensen didn't let him take his gun everywhere, because _wow_. He could really kill some of these people.

He also kind of hated their boss, Carla. But she left them both alone for the most part unless there's a job, paid them well, and didn’t mind the fact that they planned on staying married (that was non-negotiable).

Because some agencies apparently had problems with that.

Jensen had actually growled when they first met her. Carla was gorgeous, blond, and cocky. Man, the covert world sure knew how to pick 'em. They had been about to walk away, go to ground again considering someone had been able to track them down in St. Simon, when Carla had made her offer.

"We want to hire you."

"I don't fucking think so." Cue growly husband.

The bitch smiled. "Both of you."

"Why?" Jared had asked.

"One man's trash is another man's treasure," she'd said enigmatically. When she laid out her plans, she called them 'strays'. Jared had the feeling she was good at picking up strays and stragglers from their world.

Carla gave them what they needed, not that either of them would admit to needing _shit_ beyond each other (and a lifetime supply of bullets). Covers, money, and the chance to blend the two lives they each knew: the world of an assassin—high-stakes and high-passion—with their marriage, which was just finding its footing again.

Jared wanted to stop running, and when he looked at Jensen, there was a flash of hope in those guarded, green eyes. If they wanted to stay together, this could be their chance.

Maybe they could start over after all.

< >

_NOW_

The jobs are bigger and more exotic than anything Jensen’s done before. There's more breathing room between assignments, which allows Jared and Jensen to settle into some semblance of a life. 

Now, when they fight, it’s not always on American soil and there's potentially a body count.

It will never be normal and they will always be killers. But that doesn't mean every job goes down as smoothly as a sip of Crown XR. Bad days leave them grasping onto each other and cursing Carla, the agencies, and God, even as Jared's thrusting into Jensen and telling him they're _still okay_.

And they are. Better, actually. They don’t let the space between them become impassible, filled with things they don’t say to each other. If you ask Jensen, they talk _too_ much, but there’s rarely a misunderstanding. And when there is, it’s nothing that a knock-down, drag-out brawl—followed up by some _killer_ make-up sex that would blow anyone's mind—won’t fix.

There are broken limbs, bullet grazes, and radio silences. Foreign ops, shadowy meetings, and overly zealous handlers. But they have Saturday morning runs, sleepy make-out sessions, and, thanks to Jared, a freaking _cat_. Their neighbors invite them to barbecues, even though they usually decline, and Jared surprises Jensen with a no-business-talk-allowed trip back to the Caymans for the fifth anniversary of their wedding.

In the strange world of spies and assassins, Jensen finally decides they've got a pretty good deal.

FIN.


End file.
